A WHIFF OF FRANGIPANI

I do not know who was the more surprised - Lt. Col. Jack Crewe-Read or me when I appeared before him in his office on my first full day with the 3rd (Kenya) battalion, King’s African Rifles. I had never met him before, but I knew his brother, Major Offley Crewe-Read, with whom I had served in the South Wales Borderers.
He looked at my cap badge and then the posting order on his desk. “I was expecting an officer of the Welch Regiment,” he said. I explained that I had been one of five officers of the Welch Regiment serving with the South Wales Borderers and that only ten days previously I had left the 1st Battalion then stationed in Asmara, Eritrea.
He was wearing a bespoke bush jacket of a KAR officer crafted by that most expert of tailors - Jivan Nanji of Nanyuki. On one side of his desk was a bush hat with seven folds of pugri tipped by a thin scarlet border. An Arabic ‘3’ (‘telata’) in brass was mounted on a diamond shaped piece of scarlet felt on the up-turn which was itself surmounted by a tulip-shaped crow’s neck of iridescent hues. Only after I had done an eye-check of his apparel did he introduce himself as an officer of the South Wales Borderers, (24th Regiment).

It is necessary to transport the reader to Eritrea two weeks before I was due to leave 1/SWB. I had, only a week before, proposed to a young English lady whose father was the chief executive of Aden Airways. Neither of us had any thoughts about a life-long union until one evening when we sat under a frangipani tree in her parents’ garden. The intoxicating fragrance from the bell-like flowers turned our platonic friendship into one of sudden passion. Before I realised what had happened, I had proposed marriage to her and she, similarly bowled over by the aphrodisiac effect of the flowers, said, “Yes.” I did a check the following morning just to satisfy myself that the events of the previous evening were not a figment of my imagination. She confirmed that we were engaged to be married and that her father wanted to see me at 7pm that night. With this twist in the pattern of my life, a posting to the KAR in Kenya was not as attractive as it had been twenty-four hours earlier. I had a word with the Commanding Officer, himself an ‘old’ KAR hand, to see if I could stay on in Eritrea a bit longer, but he felt that the needs of the KAR were stronger than those of my fiancee.
I was sitting at the bar of the officers’ club in Asmara a few days after my engagement when a friend said, “Let’s go over to that table by the window, I’ve got something to tell you.” The ‘friend’ was another young English lady who might also have sat under under a frangipani tree as she had married a subaltern of the Regiment a few months previously.
“What I am going to tell you is ‘TOP SECRET’, ” she said, “and I must have your promise that you will not breathe a word to anyone - including your fiancee.” I knew that she worked in the headquarters of the British Administration for the ex-Italian colony but I had no idea what was coming next. “A decision is being made this year (1951) about what is going to happen to Eritrea,” she said. “It might be handed over to Ethiopia, made into a province of the Sudan or even given independence. Whatever happens there is going to be trouble, and I can tell you on the highest authority that a battalion of King’s African Rifles has been put on stand-by to come here and monitor the hand-over.” At that stage I could only hope that one of the Kenya battalions of the KAR would be selected, but I had no means of knowing which one it would be until I got there. It was infuriating not being able to say anything about this to my fiancee and when the time came for me to pack my kit and catch the boat to Mombasa, all I could say was: “See you soon - I hope.”

I was met at Nanyuki railway station by Bob Cobbing. On the way to 3 KAR officers’ mess, not far from the Mawingo Hotel, he told me that the battalion was preparing for a move, but nobody knew where we were going. I felt bound by my oath so I didn’t say anything to him or anyone else, but that night I lay in bed dreaming pleasant thoughts of returning to my beloved in Asmara as a member of a battalion of Kenya askaris.

We now return to Colonel Jack Crewe-Read’s office. Everything seemed to be going very well: I had been given the job of Signals Officer and the Colonel asked me to come around and have supper with him and his wife that evening. “We’ll expect you at 7 o’clock,” he said. “It’ll be quite informal.”
I turned up in a lounge suit and the door was opened by his wife, Diana. I have carried the memory of my first sight of the Honourable Diana Crewe-Read for fifty seven years. She could have stepped straight off the front cover of Vogue and the incredibly seductive long blue dress she was wearing made me gulp and say, “I’ll go back and put on my DJ.” “Don’t be silly,” she replied, “we are very informal here.” She led me into the drawing room where, despite the fact that Nanyuki straddled the equator, the Colonel was standing in front of a log fire dressed in a silk dressing gown and cravat with pyjama trousers peeping out at the bottom. I had never heard of the Kenya custom of dressing for the evening in bedroom wear and I had to take a closer look at Diana before I realised that the heavenly creation she was wearing was a neglige. I was the only guest, which was just as well as the conversation centred around the South Wales Borderers.
After a splendid meal the Colonel and I took our brandies and sat near the fire. Notwithstanding the oath of secrecy I had made to my friend in Asmara, I decided to ask him if it was true that the battalion was going to Eritrea. He looked surprised and said it was a possibility. The wine and brandy had infused me with bravado and I leaned forward and told him about the ‘TOP SECRET’ information I had been given. He rose to his feet and said that up until yesterday there was only one man in the battalion who knew where we were going - and that was him. With my arrival there were now two of us who shared the secret and he made me swear (again) that I would not mention a word of this highly classified information to anyone.
Over the next few weeks, rumours were scattered like chaff and the subject of our move monopolised all other topics of conversation. Most married officers came to the mess at lunch time and the Colonel had to parry countless questions that might have given the game away. Occasionally he would catch my eye and we would exchange a wink. I felt very close to him when this happened. It’s not often that a newly joined temporary captain has such a relationship with his commanding officer.
We all knew that the secret was going to be made public when the Adjutant announced there would be a scale ‘A’ parade in the camp theatre at 08.00 hrs the following day. That evening speculation reached fever pitch and bets were being taken on the most likely place for the battalion to be sent. As none of them featured Eritrea I kept quiet.
I sat about three rows from the front when the Commanding Oficer mounted the dais and addressed British officers, warrant officers and sergeants. “All of you have been wondering what is going to happen and now I am delighted to tell you that we are going to MALAYA. Those of you who are married will be able to take your families. The advance party leaves in October (1951) and the main body departs in January.”
I thought the Colonel had taken leave of his senses and almost got to my feet to tell him that he’d got it wrong. But then the Adjutant took over and got down to the fine details of the move.
I was still in a state of shock when I got back to the mess, where we repaired to toast the news with champagne.
The Colonel came up to me and said: “I’m sorry about our secret - but it was never an option. Still, you’ve kept me amused for the last month.”